"What was that all about, Harry?" asked Hermione after the two of them had climbed two floors above the headmaster's office.
"That," Harry said grimly, "was a trap Dumbledore set for me. Only he didn't realize the snare's still as empty as ever, Hermione."
At night, the dreams returned—haunting fragments of a previous life. The orphanage. Miss Cole. The bitter, twisted shells that abandoned children grew into within those walls. Sometimes, his dreams carried him to Hogwarts: teachers, students—Dumbledore, younger and more vigorous, not the figure he knew as Harry Potter but as Tom Riddle. He dreamed of Minerva, too—young, grey-eyed, with a long chestnut braid and a bright, ringing laugh.
Harry would wake from these dreams exhausted and older than his twelve years. His head throbbed with remembered knowledge, and although most of it seemed to belong in the realm of the Dark Arts, he clung to the hope he could make sense of it all—before his mind burst under the pressure.
He let no trace of doubt creep into the minds of his classmates. The last thing he needed was another visit to the Hospital Wing—or, worse, Dumbledore's office. So he kept to himself. By day, he wandered the castle, admiring a beauty he hadn't noticed before. He spent hours in the library, reading whatever Madam Pince handed him or Hermione recommended. He avoided the Slytherins; it would be too easy to snap.
He wanted to wait—wait for the trial of Peter Pettigrew. Wait to meet that man—Sirius Black—whose name he had first seen in old copies of the school newspaper while searching for anything on his parents and on Pettigrew.
He wasn't going to jump to conclusions. Nor did he intend to listen to Ronald's whining after the boy returned from the Auror Office full of tales about the disgrace his family had suffered since the unmasking of the rat Animagus.
Hermione tried to speak with him, of course—asked him question after question—but Harry refused to answer, shutting her out abruptly. Hurt, she sulked for two days, and then, upon receiving a letter from her parents, disappeared to read it in private—a first, considering she usually read such things in the company of her two best friends. Her sudden secrecy stung Ron.
By the end of the year, the Golden Trio had fractured. In the Hogwarts Express, they sat in different compartments. Ron vanished off to whisper with his brothers—Fred, George, and Percy—with whom he had grown close again after the Ministry's probe into the Weasleys' harboring of a Death Eater fugitive. Hermione sat alone, rereading her parents' letter, trying once more to understand what she had done wrong to earn such censure from usually calm Dr. and Dr. Granger.
Harry joined Seamus, Dean, and Neville, and for the first time in months, the train ride felt like an actual break. With Dean, he compared primary school stories—teachers, homework, friendships. With Seamus, it was all about Muggle football and the latest films. Neville told them what little he knew about wizarding family customs and the politics of their world.
Harry hadn't expected the journey to be so… pleasant. Or so useful. Without Ron Weasley in the mix, conversations were friendlier and far more informative. Just before the train reached King's Cross, Seamus blurted out:
"Bloody brilliant, lads—talking like normal folk without that ginger nuisance droning on about nothing but Quidditch, Slytherins, and what's for dinner."
"And yapping like that dove from the joke," chuckled Dean. Seeing their blank looks, he added, "You lot don't know it? Alright then. Two mates are chatting—one married, one single. The married one's trying to sell him on tying the knot:
'You come home, mate, everything's tidy, dinner smells grand. The wife's in an apron, waiting for you with a smile. You sit down, eat, talk like two lovebirds. Then you head to the bedroom, she satisfies you—and still she doesn't shut up. She coos and coos like a bloody dove the rest of the night…'"
The first-years howled with laughter, drawing glances from older students in the corridor. But nothing could dampen their spirits, not until the train rolled into King's Cross.
Waiting on the magical side of the platform was Neville's formidable grandmother, Lady Augusta Longbottom. Dressed in something vaguely from the 1920s—a dark suit and ankle-length skirt—she wore a ridiculous hat adorned with a stuffed predator bird so bedraggled the boys nearly doubled over with laughter. Until a sharp voice behind them snapped:
"So this is what Hogwarts teaches—mocking ladies of a certain age?"
"Mum!" cried Seamus, throwing himself into the arms of the stout matron who'd just scolded them.
A few feet away, Hermione stood alone, shifting nervously on her feet. Harry saw the internal war playing across her face. Without a word, he stepped over, grabbed her hand, and dragged her to the group.
"Neville, Dean—won't you introduce us properly?"
Neville perked up immediately. "Gran, these are my housemates. This is Hermione Granger—the cleverest girl in our year—and that's Harry Potter. I wrote to you about him. The others are Seamus Finnigan, who I believe belongs to this lady, and Dean Thomas—recently befriended."
Lady Longbottom inclined her head with stiff dignity. The bird bobbed dangerously but, somehow, stayed put—no doubt magic played a role. Her eyes, heavy with the sorrows of old wars, swept over each of them before settling on Harry.
"Mr. Potter, Neville has asked me to apply for guardianship over you. I won't take a single step without your consent," she said, her voice unexpectedly deep and commanding. "You may be aware that my daughter-in-law, Alice Longbottom, is your godmother…"
"My—what?" Harry blinked. "Godmother? Neville, why didn't you ever tell me? Who's my godfather then, Lady Longbottom?"
She sighed. "Alas, a wayward son of the Black family. Sirius. He betrayed your parents to You-Know-Who. He's been in Azkaban for ten years, since Alastor Moody caught him after Pettigrew's murder…"
"Lady Longbottom, you must be mistaken!" Seamus cut in. "Pettigrew's been outed just recently and arrested!"
The revelation stopped her cold.
For a moment, the old witch stood motionless on the platform, students and families bustling past, staring at the strange gathering. Then she stirred and said wearily:
"Neville will tell me everything. I'll consider what to do. And Mr. Potter—believe me—I'll leave no stone unturned until I get to the heart of the matter."
"Thank you, Lady Longbottom. We'd better cross over now—our families will be waiting."
On the Muggle side, Harry, Hermione, and Dean were immediately spotted by the Weasleys. Ginny, dressed in a bizarre combination of a velvet nightgown and red wellies, shrieked:
"Mum! Look—it's Harry! He's here!"
In a flash, the Weasley matriarch descended on him, arms outstretched and voice shrill with joy. Harry stepped behind Dean instinctively, shielding himself.
But Molly Weasley didn't back off. She skirted Dean and continued closing in, until Harry barked:
"Miss, who are you? What do you want from me? I don't know you—please stop following me."
The outburst drew the attention of a station officer who swiftly interposed himself.
"Ma'am, show me your identification!" he demanded. Molly froze, blinking in confusion. "No documents? Then you'll come with me to the station and explain what this is all about. Do you wish to file a complaint, son?" he asked, winking at Harry.
"I've seen her twice, sir. The first time was in September. She knew my name then, though she never introduced herself. Frankly, I think she might be up to something. But her sons—well, I recognize Ron and the twins. I don't know the others. I'm not pressing charges—as long as she leaves me alone."
"But Professor Dumbledore—" Molly began, only to be cut off.
"It's summer now. I'm with my family, ma'am. And none of them would appreciate strangers rushing up to hug me. I don't either. Ron, Fred, George, Percy—please take your mother and leave."
Ginny was gutted. Dumbledore had promised her a summer near her childhood hero, and now that dream had vanished in a single moment. Tears streaming, she flung herself into her mother's arms.
Molly Weasley stared after Harry and his friends, seething, watching as they walked off without even a polite "See you in September." Her jaw clenched. This wasn't how she'd pictured the holidays. Not at all.
She needed to get to the Burrow. Fast. And contact Albus. He always had a dozen backup plans.
After a lingering farewell to Dean's mother—a strikingly tall, thin woman who clung to her son as if she might lose him again—Harry and Hermione moved off to find their own families.
Hermione spotted hers first. Two well-dressed figures—a kind-looking woman with her daughter's features and a tall, silver-streaked man with an athletic build—beamed as they saw her. Her father swept her into his arms and spun her around.
Watching them, Harry felt a flicker of envy. If Lily and James had lived… but that wasn't who met him at King's Cross now. Not Harry. Not really. The boy who had once been Harry Potter had long since yielded to someone else. Someone darker. Someone who, once upon a time, could speak to snakes and had murdered James Potter.
As if in punishment for his wandering thoughts, a shrill voice tore through the air.
"Well? What are you waiting for?" snapped Aunt Petunia, leaning halfway out the Dursleys' car window.
Vernon and Dudley stood nearby, guzzling Coca-Cola.
Dragging his trunk and Hedwig's empty cage, Harry trudged toward his family—and noticed how… strange they looked. They'd never been beautiful, but now they resembled zoo animals. Two elephants and a horse.
He shouldn't think that way. But in his absence, Aunt Petunia had become a haggard mare with wiry hair and oversized teeth. Uncle Vernon and Dudley had ballooned. Vernon's cheeks were blotched, his once-blue eyes dulled to grey. Dudley was worse—his face pocked with spots and barely recognizable.
Before anyone could say a word, Vernon wrenched the trunk off the trolley and dumped it into the boot. Without a glance, the three Dursleys climbed into the car.
Harry turned to Hermione and gave her a quick, quiet goodbye. Then, slipping Hedwig's cage between his knees, he climbed in beside Dudley.
No one spoke a word.
Something had to change.
_____
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